🎵 Song of the Day: “River of Dreams” – Billy Joel
Steps yesterday: 45,000
Distance today: ±10 km
Route: Delberg to Quinta da Sarga (and beyond)
After yesterday’s 32 km grind and 45,000 steps, today began… slowly. Very slowly. By 07:50, I was still in the auberge — not a single step walked yet, just quietly resting. Every muscle reminded me of the effort it took to get here. Normally, I’d have two hours behind me already. Not today. And that was okay.
Last night had its share of colour. I ended up in a small local pub with a real retired bullfighter — part of a whole family of retired bullfighters. Uncle, cousin, nephew — all from the same tradition. They were warm, generous, and kept plying us with free drinks. It turned into one of those noisy, laughter-filled nights you can’t quite plan for, but are glad you stumble into.
Earlier in the evening, though, we had a bit of Camino culture clash. Around 16:30, just as we were settling in for some rest, a non-Camino guest arrived at the auberge. He drove in, not walked — overweight, loud, with two bottles of wine under his arm and his music blaring. The contrast couldn’t have been sharper. When we tried to sleep around 22:00, we had to ask him to keep quiet. He finally staggered out at 02:30, and unfortunately, he drove off — a reminder that not everyone on the road is walking it the same way.
Today’s walk was lighter and shorter — just 10 km — but full of unexpected moments.
First, the storks. It’s clearly stork season in Portugal. Nearly every electricity pylon I passed had two or three massive nests perched on top, with tall storks standing like sentinels. These birds have claimed the high ground, and they stand calmly, quietly, as if watching us pilgrims pass below. There’s something quite beautiful in that.
Then came Quinta da Sarga — a ghost town. Truly. The buildings are there, but they’re crumbling, roofless, forgotten. The streets are intact but empty. There’s no one around. No movement. Just a haunting stillness. Walking through it felt surreal, like I had stepped out of the Camino and into memory. Quiet, heavy, and strange — the kind of place that leaves a whisper in your mind long after you’ve left.
For more information, please see my post on the Angé for Sunflowers Facebook page.
And then, the café.
I stumbled into a tiny, very local café — the kind that doesn’t appear on any map. I wasn’t sure if I was welcome, but I sat down anyway. Three old men sat along the back wall, staring at me. I’m pretty sure they were either talking about me or to me — in Portuguese, of course. I still couldn’t understand a word. But they kept watching. I finished my drink, gave a polite nod, and headed back.
Now I’m back in the auberge, resting again. The day was strange, slow, and deeply Camino. A bit of everything: aching legs, quiet ghost towns, towering storks, awkward stares, and a song in my head that carried me through it all:
🎵 “In the middle of the night, I go walking in my sleep…”
— Billy Joel
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